Transition: Buck Rogers in the 25th Century
by bookscape
Summary: This story offers an explanation as to why Buck, Wilma and Twiki left Earth and joined the crew of the Searcher. Takes place between the first and second seasons of the show.
1. Chapter 1

Transition 1

Buck paced through his apartment several times before fully realizing what was happening. With an exasperated sigh, he stopped himself and looked around. Even though he had fixed it up and made it a part of him, a part of who he was, Buck still sometimes felt distant from all that was around him. For some reason, after their return through the vortex, he felt restless, like he had accomplished everything that needed to be done here. But how in the world could one accomplish something in a new world, a new time like the twenty-fifth century in the scant space of just over one year?

It certainly hadn't helped that the end result of the trip to Pendar was a kind of hush on any kind of threatening activities in the galaxy. It was as though something chaotic had been soothed into complacency, like oil on turgid waters. At least for the time being. Oh, there had been a few missions, a couple of galactic thugs who tried to fill in the gap that the Draconians had left, but they had been easily taken care of, almost too easily, although Dr. Huer would disagree with him.

Ardala had done nothing in the past five months. Not a peep out of Draconia. Directorate spies reported that the Draconians were seemingly licking their wounds of past defeats against the Directorate, as well as putting down insurrections in their empire. Spreading themselves much too thin trying to take over Earth, Buck surmised. Like the Roman Empire, it had tried to take over and administer too much and couldn't effectively deal with it.

Elsewhere, relations were, on the outside at least, friendly with everyone else the Directorate dealt with. The new Galactic Council on Cronis seemed to be building a strong new alliance among the inhabited worlds in most of the known quadrants.

Buck shook his head. It wasn't that he wanted war and discord, but if peace was going to mean sitting here on his butt for the rest of his life, training recruits for peacetime missions, and going out to occasionally take care of the bullies that popped up on the block, he figured he'd better find a new line of work. Leisure was not his style. He'd had five hundred years of that already.

Back in the past, he had never felt this agitated before, and had never considered himself one of those "restless spirits" of the post cold war days. Buck sighed again and sat down in the large chair he had picked out from the heap that Dr. Junius called a museum storehouse. He thought about taking a stroll down to the garden shopping area, but that didn't appeal to him enough to do more that think about it. A stroll through the stars? That might be the ticket, but the Directorate didn't hand over the keys to a starfighter with impunity like his dad did the family car.

Buck chuckled. Dad didn't hand over the keys nonchalantly either. But that was the impetus he needed. Grabbing his brown quasi flight jacket, he got up and strode out of his apartment, determined to take that little spin around the solar system, if for no other reason than to clear his head.

Down in the flight hangar, the exo in charge just stared at him for a moment. "Do you realize how much this little flight will cost the Directorate?"

Buck grumbled under his breath.

"What?" the lieutenant asked.

"I said put it on my bill," Buck retorted.

"I daresay your bill would exceed your pay," the exo shot back.

"Look, Lieutenant, uh . . . Sanderson," Buck began, peering at the young man's name on his uniform. "Let's just say I don't trust the universe right now. Call it a patrol. Call it surveillance. Call it something. I just need to fly and think."

"Take a shuttle to Sinaloa."

Buck frowned. "That's supposed to let me think? Have you been there lately?" Under any other circumstance, that would have been a decent idea, but not now. Distraction wasn't what he wanted. He sighed. "Just send through the request, would you?"

The other man gazed into his eyes, pondered a moment and then turned to his console. "All right, Captain. I'll at least do that. But be warned that the Directorate has been curtailing patrols lately."

"A lull in galactic nastiness is just the time when one should be on his toes," Buck said wryly.

Sanderson gazed at him a moment longer and then nodded. "Personally, I agree with you. Unless there is anything specific against your name, I will honor your request. The next patrol is scheduled to go out in a short while anyway. You'll just let someone get to bed a bit earlier."

"I appreciate that, Lieutenant."

"Think nothing of it. I am fully aware of your reputation."

"Uh oh, and you're still letting me loose in one of those?" Buck smiled when Sanderson did a double take.

The young man realized Buck was joking and smiled in return. "Not that reputation, Captain Rogers, although I am aware of that, too."

Now Buck did the double take. "Hey, I have a sterling record! I've only cracked up, uh . . ." He began counting on his fingers, then he grinned. "Just kidding. I'll take very good care of whatever jalopy you hand me the keys for."

"Huh? Jalopy? Keys?" Sanderson asked in confusion. Then he shrugged. He knew that reputation, too. In a moment, he turned back. "Starfighter D118. Berth C. Fully fueled and ready to go. Don't forget pre-flight checks, though."

"Of course not," Buck replied, grinning. He found his flight helmet and strode over to the starfighters. D118, right in front, he noted with approval. Climbing up on the wing, Buck lifted the canopy and got in. Fitting the helmet, he began the requisite pre-flight checks and then pulled the canopy closed. "D118, ready for launch," he told the controller.

"Launch Bay Three is ready, D118. Have a good flight, Captain," came the answer.

"Thanks, I plan on it. And I'll let you know if I see any little green men out there," he quipped. Suddenly he felt very, very good, as though something totally great was going to happen this day. Why, he didn't know, but lately, his moods had been swinging like a pendulum. Maybe this was the twenty-fifth century version of a midlife crisis. Buck mentally groaned. Heaven preserve him from that curse. But as he eased into the launch bay, he realized that he had been moody of late, more than he had been before. Of course, before, he had been too busy to be more than depressed in passing. Except for that time where he had to deal with his loss of Jennifer again. Or the woman that looked like Jennifer.

He launched and felt the momentary thrill of being catapulted out of the bay and into the stratosphere, just as he did each time he took off. Then he began pondering again. Actually, his feelings of restlessness began with that little episode in his life. It had brought back, full force, all that he had kept at bay after his awakening in this century. More to the point, it had brought back emotions that he had kept carefully locked away for the most part. So what was he to do? Go to a shrink? Again, Buck groaned, aloud this time. Maybe that was what he needed to do. But what in the hell could someone from this century know about his displacement, his loss, and his inner feelings?

With a sigh, Buck guided his starfighter straight up from New Chicago, wanting the stars in his view port as quickly as possible. Only those had not changed. So up he went, until the sky turned black and the stars stopped twinkling. He watched entranced; it never ceased to thrill him. This was one of the main perks of his new life—that and his new friends. With sudden realization, Buck realized just how lucky he had been in all this. To be dumped so unceremoniously into something as strange and foreign as this world, he had found people of incredible understanding and warmth. Even Twiki, he thought with a chuckle, had more feelings than many of his acquaintances of the past.

But sometimes that wasn't enough. Sometimes the pain and loneliness was almost too much to bear and it was something even his new friends couldn't help him with. New Chicago was too close to old Chicago, the scars of the holocaust haunted him horribly. It was at those times that he was grateful for off world assignments, those duties which would take him away from the reminders of what had happened to his home, friends and family. Away from the terrible scars of a ravaged planet. Now there simply weren't enough of those assignments. He had too much time among the graveyards of his past.

Buck took the starfighter around the orbit of the moon, skimming over craters that were almost the same as when the first men had landed here. He slowed until the anti-grav jets took over, cruising over the Sea of Tranquility until he saw the base of the old lunar module that Neil Armstrong had climbed from so many years ago. The flag still stood, still outstretched, the stars and stripes almost as pristine as when that banner was planted over five hundred years ago. Setting the starfighter down just beyond the designated distance for 'sight-seeing' Buck sat and gazed at the bit of history unmarred by war or politics. Those guys had been heroes; they had done something no one else had done. _So have you, _a tiny voice reminded him. Startled, Buck wondered where that had come from. He would hate to think he had begun talking to himself. It had happened before; that something that warned, chided or exhorted. Maybe that was what his mother had called a guardian angel. With a sigh, Buck studied the old artifacts for a while longer, before engaging the anti-grav units again and slowly taking off.

High above the moon's surface, Buck flew in intricate loop-de-loops, patterns that would have made most pilots dizzy, in fact they almost made his own stomach lurch. He flew straight out toward the end of the solar system, pausing to fly intricate patterns between some of the asteroids, then out to Jupiter and Saturn, where he flew under the layers of rings, then on to Neptune and Pluto with its twin/satellite Charon, amazed at the ability he had to simply stroll around the solar system. Too bad everything wasn't in conjunction, so he could see them all in one pass. He had wanted to do that from the moment he had started flying for the Directorate, but there had never been an opportunity.

Buck looped around the planet that astronomers in his day only theorized by fuzzy photographs and he studied the dark and dreary landscape of the extra solar phenomenon. Finally, Buck realized that he needed to start back soon. While these birds had great range, and the fuel was very efficient, he had not used any stargates, and this fighter was a short-range craft. Gazing at his instruments, Buck saw, to his chagrin, that he had almost over extended his range—in fact, he probably had. He turned and headed on the most direct course back to Earth, determined to get there even if he had to coast part of the way, not wanting to call for help. Putting the craft on computer auto-pilot, Buck leaned back as much as the seat would let him and contemplated once more.

He was here, as Theo had told him, there was no way he could go back. And as Dr. Huer had told him, there would always be moments of pain. That was part of being human, especially a human in his situation. So what was he going to do about this present situation? He sure couldn't keep on moping around like some grounded teenager. Perhaps he could ask Dr. Huer for an off-world assignment. That was a possibility, at least temporarily. Buck dozed for a few moments, feeling the sudden lethargy of several nights of restlessness and too little sleep. He was brought to wakefulness by the computer's chime, telling him that his fuel was almost gone. Cursing his inattentiveness, Buck sat up.

He realized that he was only within range of Mars, much too far to coast and use his last bit of fuel to get to New Chicago. _Eat crow, Rogers, you pulled the stupidest stunt any Directorate cadet could have managed and you're going to have to pay for it. In loss of dignity, at the very least. _ Buck reached for his communicator and then stopped. According to the read-outs, there was a large space liner ahead of him, one that should be on visual at the right angle. He slightly shifted his fighter and saw what appeared to be a duplicate of the cruise ship he had been on when he was playing bodyguard to Ms. Cosmos. This one didn't have the fancy trim and trappings of that one, so while it probably came from the same shipyards as the luxury liner, this one was different. Buck switched on his communicator, while at the same time noting a great many smaller craft around it. Then he realized what it was; this was a new ship in final fitting for space.

Trying to remember any mention of any shipbuilding in any of the vids or in a conversation with Dr. Huer or Wilma, Buck drew a blank. Regardless, he was dangerously low on fuel and this monster ahead of him had a landing bay. Maybe even a spare canister of this century's equivalent of rocket fuel. It would beat hitchhiking. Checking his instrumentation, Buck saw that the bay was completed, with all the necessities for landing a small spacecraft. It appeared to be clear of personnel as well. He turned on his communicator. "This is Earth Directorate starfighter D118. Requesting landing rights."

"Starfighter, you are not authorized to land on this craft," came the immediate answer. They had probably been watching him from out beyond Mars.

"Sorry, guys, this is an emergency. I am out of fuel. I either land or you all get to tow me back to Earth," Buck replied, a bit irritated.

"Negative, starfighter. This is a classified project and no unauthorized personnel are allowed on board," the voice told him in no uncertain terms. "Call for someone to tow you in to Directorate Headquarters if you were so stupid as to run out of fuel this far out."

"I am part of the Defense Directorate. And I am practically out of fuel. No fuel, minimal control," Buck said, his irritation becoming anger. "And guess what direction I'm heading in." He paused a moment. "I'm coming in to your main hangar bay, unless, of course you want me to punch a large and very hard to patch hole in the side of that nice new cruiser."

There was some sputtering on the other end of the transmission, but Buck cut it off. The guy he had been talking to was right. He had been stupid. But communications even cut into the fuel and he needed all he could get to guide this craft safely into the large bay. You simply didn't have the kind of options in space that you had in the upper atmosphere. You couldn't lower flaps and kill speed, you couldn't put the nose up—no air for friction or anything else for that matter. You ran out of fuel in space and you just coasted in whatever direction you were going in when you ran out and hoped to hell there was nothing in the way.

He heard the alarms in his helmet and on the panel before him just as he was winging into the landing bay of the nearly finished space ship. The sudden influx of atmosphere inside allowed him to use his atmospheric controls, and he did so, feeling his head snap back against his chair. It was a dangerous maneuver but he had not had enough fuel to slow himself with the forward propulsion units. The ships engines screamed as the last bit of fuel was expended and he hit the deck hard. Buck had already engaged the anti-grav brakes and the force of them as his landing gear touched the deck whipped him forward against his harness. He didn't have time to cry out in shock as the webbing bit into his chest. He was too busy willing the ship to stop, holding the anti-grav brake controls steady before it hit the end of the bay. And it finally did, a scant ten feet before the bulkhead. Canisters of blue paint flew everywhere on his entry, making an almost psychedelic effect against the drab gray and white base coat on the decks and walls.

Almost as an afterthought, one of his landing struts buckled and the starfighter was suddenly sitting at an angle. Shaky, Buck popped the canopy and slowly pulled off his helmet. Angry and frightened workmen poured into the bay, shouting curses as they saw the mess he had made. With extra careful deliberation, he pulled himself out of the ship and tried to jump down onto the deck. Big mistake. His knees buckled and he landed awkwardly. There was a pain going up one arm and he bit off a cry. He didn't think that landing had been that rough, but apparently it had. The adrenalin rush was over and Buck was left feeling dizzy and weak.

An arm grabbed him and jerked him to his feet. "Who the hell do you think you are, coming in unauthorized like that? You almost took this thing out before…."

"That's enough, Garen," a deep voice said.

"But Admiral…."

The workman released him, but stood close. Buck looked at the newcomer. He was older, a bit on the chunky side, but very much in control, even wearing the gray work suit he had on. And the man didn't look very happy with the situation. Of course, thought Buck, he would be unhappy, too. "Admiral," he began. Even his voice was shaky. That had been way too close.

"Who in the hell are you to come in like some green cadet who thinks he knows more than his instructor?" the admiral thundered.

"Captain Buck Rogers, Admiral," Buck answered more sure now. The man next to him gaped at him in recognition. Buck stood up straighter. "I'm sorry. I…."

"You should be. Is Colonel Deering your commanding officer?"

"Uh, yessir."

The admiral gazed carefully at him and then at the ship. "You know, you could have changed trajectory and drifted until picked up," the admiral said, his voice a bit softer in tone. "You could have done a great deal of damage, pilot. In fact you did, but it's superficial. You're also lucky you weren't killed." He sighed. "I have to admit, though, that was one damned fine piece of flying, Captain. Where did you learn that kind of stunt?"

Buck was feeling surer of himself, although he still felt stupid. "I, uh, learned some of that in the Air Force Academy, but the rest was just experimenting with what these things can do . . . and training from Colonel Deering." He paused. "I agree, though, sir, it was a stupid thing to do. I should have known better."

"Mmm, yes." The admiral looked thoughtful. "Air Force Academy?"

"Yessir, Colorado Springs, United States Air Force Academy."

The admiral looked intensely puzzled and then comprehension dawned. "Who did you say you were?"

"Captain Buck Rogers, sir."

The admiral suddenly smiled. "You're right, Captain. A man of your years really should have known better."

Buck wondered if the admiral was joking. It was definitely hard to tell, even with the smile.

The admiral strode forward and held out his hand. "I am Admiral Efrem Asimov. Welcome aboard the _Searcher_, Captain Rogers."


	2. Chapter 2

Transition 2

Buck took the Admiral's hand and suddenly winced as pain shot up his arm.

Asimov let go and looked at him in concern. "Are you all right, Captain?" he asked.

"I fell when I got out of my ship and came down a bit hard. Probably just sprained," Buck replied, rubbing his wrist.

"Even so, I think it wouldn't hurt to let our medic check it out. We don't have a qualified doctor yet, but Mortin can take care of you for now. And in the meantime, we'll put enough fuel in your fighter to get you back to Earth," Asimov told him. He glanced back at Buck's ship. "Provided it will make it."

"I think we're talking about a bit of damage to the strut, sir, nothing that will affect how it flies," Buck said.

"Good, then that means you get to explain all of this to your flight commanders," the admiral said with a knowing smile.

Buck winced. Indeed, he would and then get to hear Wilma chide him for pulling a dumb schoolboy stunt. He sighed as they left the landing bay. They walked along a corridor that seemed to go on forever before they reached a turbolift. When they came out, they walked down another corridor and then another, finally heading into a large and only partially finished room.

"How do you figure your way around, Admiral?" Buck asked, not remembering the luxury cruise ship being this big.

"Mortin?" Asimov called out. Then he chuckled. "It's like anywhere else. You get used to it, then you wonder how you ever got lost to begin with."

Hmm, makes sense, Buck thought. He remembered his first days in New Chicago. Now he could make his way through most of the corridors with his eyes closed.

"Yes, Admiral?" a voice from the back of a console called out.

"Would you look at the captain's hand and see what damage he did to it?"

A young face popped up from behind the large medical apparatus and smiled at him. "Hello," he said. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Well, not exactly," Buck said hesitantly, intensely curious about this seemingly secret project. He had heard nothing about the _Searcher_ and he wondered about this monstrous vessel that was apparently not a leisure cruise ship. And there was something that drew him beside curiosity, too. He felt a strange sense of eagerness.

"Captain Rogers is an unexpected guest," the admiral said. "Tried out our landing bay when his fuel ran out."

"Rogers?" Mortin asked gazing intently at Buck. "The Captain Rogers?"

Feeling self-conscious, Buck just nodded.

"Well, welcome aboard," he said holding out his hand.

"It's the hand that needs checking, Hans," Asimov said, his mouth curved in a wry smile.

The younger man struck him more or less as a younger version of Dr. Junius. "Come on over here, Captain."

Buck followed him over to an examination table, where Mortin motioned him to lay his hand in the middle of it. There was a slight hum and the med tech walked over to a small computer console. "Hmm," was all he said for a moment.

"Well?" Buck said after several more 'hmmm's.'

"Nothing broken, but it seems that you've suffered a slight sprain," Mortin said matter-of-factly.

Sighing, the admiral said, "That kind of precludes you flying back to Earth for a day."

"Sorry, Admiral," Buck said in a sincere voice, then his curiosity got the best of him. "May I ask a question?" Mortin wrapped his wrist and hand with a thera-wrap bandage, one that was supposed to promote healing of bruised tendons and muscles.

"Yes, but no guarantees of an answer," Asimov answered.

"I gather this ship is something of a secret?"

"For the time being it is." Asimov gazed thoughtfully at the young pilot. As irritated as he was with him, there was something he liked about this hotshot standing in front of him. He wondered if half of what he had heard was true.

"I didn't see evidence of much in the way of armaments, so I'm thinking this is not a ship of war," Buck began. "But there is a great deal of specialized equipment. Is this some kind of exploration vessel?"

Asimov looked startled for a moment, then he nodded. Well, Rogers was astute. "Yes, it is, or will be." Asimov rubbed his chin. "You have figured out this much, I can only assume you would figure out the rest, seeing as how you are going to be with us for a short while." There was a slight pause. "The _Searcher_ is a joint effort between the newly formed Galactic Council and the Earth Directorate to go out into the various outlaying quadrants. This is a scientific vessel. We hope to have it fully fitted and commissioned within a month. Our mission will begin shortly thereafter."

Buck said nothing for a moment. His mind was spinning at the possibilities.

"I would hope when you go back to Earth, you will keep most of this to yourself," Asimov said.

Buck looked puzzled. "Why the secrecy?"

"While it seems very peaceful right now, the Council and the Directorate feel that there might be those who would not want such a venture to succeed. We can't take the chance of sabotage when the ship is most vulnerable."

"So I'm not the only one who's paranoid," Buck said with a slight smile.

The admiral returned the smile. "We can't keep it a total secret, but we haven't broadcast ourselves yet. Those in the upper echelons of the Directorate know."

"Like Colonel Deering?"

"Yes, she is aware of it," Asimov said. "And select pilots have been keeping patrol in the area to protect us from unwanted intrusion."

Buck couldn't help it, he began to chuckle. "But apparently they aren't totally successful." He wondered remotely why she hadn't let him in on this.

"Apparently." The admiral's mouth quirked. "I would guess the colonel will put you on one of those patrols now that you know."

"And I promise not to make that kind of landing again," Buck replied with a smile.

"Or to run out of fuel."

Buck felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, but then renewed excitement made him forget his discomfiture. "You have your full compliment picked yet?"

"Not entirely. For now, we have been carefully studying records of Directorate employees and asking those we thought would be interested in this mission, as well as those with the expertise we need. Once the ship is fully operational, it will be publicized and the call will go out for any additional scientists and crewmembers who wish to sign on," the admiral responded, looking curiously at the younger man. "Were you thinking about joining?"

"As a matter of fact, Admiral, I would like to be considered," Buck said. This might be just what he had been looking for.

"These will be deep space assignments. We don't expect to return to Earth that often," Asimov reminded the pilot.

Buck considered. Yes, that would mean separation from those he had come to call friends, but he had wanted something different, something that would take him from Earth with all its attendant ghosts and horrific history. This was the perfect answer to his restlessness. "Admiral, there isn't much here to hold me. As I guess you already know, my Earth is five hundred years gone. Only the ghosts are left to haunt me."

There was silence for a moment as the older man continued to study this potential crewmember who had made such a spectacular, though non-stellar entrance. That he was not a scientist was obvious, but there was always need for those who would do initial exploration, fly patrols and similar duties. And this man seemed perfect for that kind of work. "I don't know if you are that familiar with Earth's history after the holocaust," the admiral began, feeling he could trust him with the other part of the ship's undertaking.

"The sickness and hardship?" Buck asked. "I know some of it."

"But did you know there were those who were able to escape into space during the early days of the post-holocaust?"

Buck was startled. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, well, it is not hard and fast, but there are enough records to believe that it actually happened. Apparently, there were those who had kept enough technological know how and the materials from old space yards to build spacecraft. It is believed that they launched into space and no one knows where they ended up," Asimov explained. "That is the other part of our mission."

Buck felt his excitement growing. "I had no idea, Admiral." He paused for a moment. Then he felt the rightness of his decision. "Yes, I think I would like to be considered for this."

Nodding, Asimov said. "Very well, I will send a request for your transfer to your commanding officer."

While still excited, Buck wondered how Wilma and Dr. Huer would take the news. It bothered him a bit, but he knew he could not remain on Earth for very much longer and be happy. He would just have to explain it to them when he returned to New Chicago. Then he realized why Wilma and Dr. Huer had not told him about this project and he felt twinges of guilt.

The request came much quicker than Buck's return. Dr. Huer walked into his office several hours before his official working time and sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. Seeing the furiously blinking computer screen in front of him, he sighed lustily. Most of it had to be for that new project commissioned almost six months ago, the project that had been approved right after their return from Pendar. It was a good thing that the shipyards on Lngris had already been building a ship and had done everything except the special and final requirements. Otherwise it would most likely have been more than a year before the project would be ready for fruition. It had been only a simple matter to divert this vessel from its intended buyer, a cruise line that was a bit financially strapped anyway, to the Directorate/Galactic Council auspices.

But Huer was still amazed at the speed with which this had all happened. It was almost as if the mission through the vortex had spurred not only peace, but a new wave of restlessness, a desire to go and do and explore and find. He wondered if there had been something similar that happened in Earth's past history that had spurred the old explorers. "Ah, well, enough speculation for now," he said aloud to no one in particular. "It's time to get to work." He reached over and turned on his computer.

The door opened and Twiki, with Dr. Theopolis around his neck, entered. "Good morning, Dr. Huer." Twiki beeped his greeting.

"Good morning, Doctor," Huer returned.

"You are starting quite early this morning."

"Yes, this _Searcher_ project has been increasingly time consuming and demanding, and I needed to get a head start on the paperwork," Huer replied. He took a sip and then laid the cup down. "It seems there have been more requests overnight.

"Yes, now that the project is coming closer to completion, I imagine that there would be."

"Yes, more requests for transfers." Some of the requests were taxing the ranks of the Directorate.

"I assume that there will be a public call sometime soon," Theo said. "Now that the ship is almost completed. Then it will be even worse."

"Yes, but by then, those who are most needed will already be selected. It will mainly be a matter of filling in the gaps." Huer began studying the screen. Then he took a deep breath and sat back suddenly. What he had dreaded and expected had finally happened.

"Doctor Huer, what is wrong?" Theo said, seeing the look on the Directorate leader's face.

"Something I had hoped would not happen," he said softly. "But something I expected would anyway." He sighed and began reading. "A request for transfer for one Captain William Anthony Rogers to the research and exploration vessel, _Searcher._"

"So Buck knows."

"Yes."

"I would assume that your reaction is why you and Wilma kept this project secret from him?" Theo asked.

"Well, not exactly secret, but we didn't…."

"Doctor Huer, you knew that Buck would be interested, didn't you?" Theo asked pointedly. "And you didn't want him to leave."

"No, I didn't want him to leave." Huer thought of his feelings right now and they were similar to that which he had felt when Buck went into the vortex. Fear, anxiety, loneliness; it was much as he had felt when his son had left to serve in a far quadrant. No, he had really not wanted Buck to leave, but he felt that the restless young man would have wanted to eventually. The signs were there, more especially of late.

"I believe I told you that Buck has been feeling very impatient and restive of late, did I not?"

"Yes, you did."

"This is something that would be good for him. I think he feels too confined here on Earth. Even with all he has done this past year," Theo pointed out.

"I know, Doctor, I know, but I . . . I will miss him fiercely," Huer said softly, still gazing absently at the screen.

"As will I," Theo said. His voice, too, was low. The quad had become quite attached to the anomalous and energetic young man from the past.

"I want to go if Buck goes," Twiki piped up, punctuating his sudden request with several beeps. There was silence for the space of several minutes.

"I think that would be a good idea," Dr. Theopolis said before Dr. Huer could say anything.

Huer nodded. "Yes, I agree." Then he paused. "I guess I had better send this to Wilma, in case it hasn't already reached her. Since she is his commanding officer."

"Yes. I believe it will affect her just as it has you," Theo stated.

_More_, Huer thought as he forwarded the request to the head of Directorate Defense. Much, much more.


	3. Chapter 3

Transition 3

Wilma sat looking at the request on the screen in front of her. _How had he found out? _she asked herself, even while she realized it didn't matter. Buck had found out about the special ship and, just as she had surmised, he was jumping at the chance to join the expedition. _Does he have any idea at all how his departure will affect those left behind?_ Then she chided herself. Should it matter? But again, Wilma couldn't help but feel betrayed. Hadn't they done enough to help him acclimatize? Hadn't they done their best to help him get over the culture shock that fast forwarding five hundred years into the future would cause him? _Buck Rogers, don't you know what kind of a hole in my heart your leaving will cause?_

Her finger hovered over the button that would put a refusal on the request, but Wilma hesitated. So far she had not denied any of those who had chosen to transfer to the _Searcher_ and it would not be fair to refuse Buck's request until she had had a chance to talk to him. Deep within her heart, she knew it would be unfair to refuse it at all. With a sigh, Wilma simply jumped to the next computer message and found out the reason for Buck's knowledge of the semi-secret project. It was the patrol log for late the previous night. Buck had requested to do patrol and it had been granted. He had flown an erratic course, according to the log. The moon, Jupiter, Saturn and out to the end of the solar system. What in the heck kind of patrol was that? Almost immediately, Wilma knew the answer. It was the meanderings of a very confused and lonely man. Buck had been periodically moody ever since his little adventure with the quasi-Jennifer, Leila. And since that trip to Pendar? Buck had too much time on his hands. She should have seen that. And done something about it.

She read further. As she had suspected from the flight pattern, Buck had neglected to pay attention to his fuel supply. She sat back and took a deep breath. He knew better than that! Shaking her head, Wilma read on. He had run out of fuel just within the orbit of Mars. And guess where the _Searcher_ lay getting its finishing touches? Wilma read in amusement and some amount of trepidation, a brief account of his emergency landing. It was a wonder he hadn't killed himself, she thought, irritated. So he was now on the _Searcher_, nursing a sprained wrist. Admiral Asimov probably gave him a good tongue lashing, especially if he had caused any damage. However, it must not have lasted too long. Wilma went back and perused the transfer request again. It had come from Asimov.

Shaking her head, Wilma couldn't help but smile. Buck had done it again. He had charmed his way into the good graces of yet another commander. But why wouldn't Asimov be impressed with Buck? Even when he screwed up, Buck had a way of coming out on top. He could charm the flitters from a Mundosian cloud skimmer.

Then she reread the transfer paper and felt her eyes burning. _Buck Rogers, what am I going to do without you?_ The same thing she had done before he had come to this century. But she still felt her soul being rent apart. How could one man affect her this much? It was a question she had asked herself before. Finally, Wilma got some semblance of control over herself. She looked over the other messages as well as the duty roster, putting the answer to Buck's request on hold for the moment. There was a message from Dr. Huer, telling her what she already knew. There were several other requests from other members of her squadrons to transfer to the scientific ship. She glanced over them and punched in the button that signaled her acceptance. There were duty rosters, cadet reports, situation reports from the Dicron quadrant where their diplomatic envoy was being harassed. She went through everything carefully, deliberately pushing the dilemma of Buck's transfer into the recesses of her mind.

After work, she went to her apartment, showered and changed, still trying to keep her feelings under control. A chime at her door brought her out of a relaxed reverie that the hot shower had put her in. She gazed at the ident signal and saw, to her surprise, that it was Buck. She felt the same thrill that she always had when he came calling. Then she wondered what kind of a mood he was in tonight. "Come in," she called out.

The door opened and Buck came sauntering in. He seemed happy and she suspected that his desire to go with the _Searcher _had put him in a better mood. "Hey, Wilma."

"Hi, Buck. I hear you had a great deal of fun with one of the starfighers."

To her satisfaction, his embarrassment was very evident in his face. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, didn't pay as much attention to the fuel monitors as I should have."

"How bad did you damage the _Searcher?_" she asked.

Now he looked a bit hurt. "Not as much as I hurt myself," he shot back.

Wilma gazed at him carefully. Sometimes it was virtually impossible, especially lately, to tell if he was, as he put it, jerking her chain, or really angry. "I'm sorry, Buck. I got the impression you hadn't hurt yourself that badly."

"No, I really didn't," he answered, his tone more casual. "And it was much less than I deserved, I guess."

She decided he had just been putting on a show. "How did you like it?"

"Quite a ship, Wilma. Have you seen it?" he asked.

"Not recently," she answered. There was something bothering him and she couldn't tell what it was.

"Did you have plans tonight?" he asked suddenly.

"Not really. Just relaxing," she said warily. "You want to join me?"

Buck gazed at her appreciatively and nodded. "Yeah, your place or mine?"

"I'm here, so how about my place."

He shrugged. "Suits me. Want me to order out?"

"Order out?" Then she understood what he was meaning. "You mean call up something to eat?" He nodded. "Not unless you're hungry. I wouldn't mind a glass of vinol, though. There's some in the refrigerator."

He smiled. "I'm not hungry, except for some adventure." He went over to her little kitchenette area and got the drinks. Soon they were sitting across from each other in her small living room.

"Is that why you put in the request for a transfer?"

"Partly." He poured her some of the vinol and then poured some for himself. He gazed at the drink and shook his head. "Your synthesizers have to get their acts together. This stuff doesn't even look like the real thing."

Wilma chuckled softly, then sipped her vinol. "What should it look like, Buck?"

"Depends. Some wine is a rosy color, some white, or almost clear, rather."

"Turn in your recommendations and see what they come up with," she suggested.

"Ah, well, I am the only connoisseur around here and I'll be gone in a couple of months," he said nonchalantly, then took a drink.

"Why, Buck?" she asked, suddenly somber. "Really. Why did you decide to do this? And so quickly, too."

Buck took a deep breath. "I noticed that you approved about a dozen requests, but didn't approve mine."

"I . . . uh, wanted to talk to you first."

"You mean talk me out of it?"

Wilma squelched the flash of irritation that she felt. "That's not fair, Buck."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, but I know that every request has been almost immediately approved—by either you or Dr. Huer," he replied.

"Buck," Wilma began. "I think I just wanted to talk to you and try to understand why you feel you need to do this." She gazed into his eyes and sought for understanding there, but he was keeping his feelings hidden.

Looking at the ceiling, Buck said nothing for a moment. Then he took another deep breath. "You know how much you and Dr. Huer, and yes, even Twiki have helped me adjust to this century. And how much all of you mean to me."

"But it's not enough," Wilma said, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice.

He looked at her, his eyes boring into hers. His look spoke of gratitude and friendship. Then he gazed into his glass of vinol. "No, it's not enough." When he looked up again, she saw pain. "Wilma," he said pointing to his left. "Over there is the place where I lived and grew up. It's the place where the people I loved died and are buried. It's ghosts and graveyards." He stopped and sucked in a tortured breath. "And it's haunting me, Wilma. Every time I go anywhere in New Chicago, I feel the breath of old Chicago. Every time I fly in, I see that horrible wasteland and see, in my mind, what it used to be like. I am surrounded by ghosts. I thought it would go away with time and it did a bit when I was too busy to think about it, but lately…."

"Lately, it's been quiet and peaceful and we all have time to think about more than trying to keep Earth from being invaded or threatened," she finished for him.

"And to feel the specters of the past," he added.

"Would it help if you moved to New Phoenix or City by the Sea?"

"No, the spirits of all who lived and died, everything that reminds me of what used to be would be at my fingertips. This whole planet is like a graveyard to me sometimes," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Maybe someday when the memories aren't so fresh, so quick to surface, maybe then I'll be able to come back and feel at ease. Feel comfortable with my past, as well as my present."

"I'll miss you, Buck," Wilma said, trying desperately to avoid crying. She blinked, trying to focus on Buck's features that had become suddenly blurred. Only partially succeeding, she felt a tear escape and trickle down her cheek.

Buck reached over and wiped it away, then touched his finger to his tongue. "There's supposed to be some kind of saying about tasting someone else's tears. I just can't remember what it is," he said tenderly. He sat back, quiet for a few minutes. "Damn, Wilma, I'm going to miss you, too. That's what hurts the most." He took her hand. "But I have to do this. Can't you see?"

_No! _she wanted to say, but she couldn't, because she did understand. She understood that she wanted him to feel happy and whole. "Yes, Buck, I can see that and that's what hurts the most for me, too," she said. "I can feel your pain and see your anguish and marvel at your resilience. And I cannot hold you back from doing what is best for you." She smiled softly. "I could never do that to a friend, to someone I respect and care for as much as I care for you."

Buck reached over and took her in his arms, enveloping her in an embrace that spoke volumes of his deep friendship for this incredible woman. He felt the warmth of her body against his and felt her cry softly against his shoulder. For a long time, he simply let her release her emotions, then he pulled back. "Hey, the _Searcher _will be back from time to time."

"I know, Buck. And you'll have to tell me all of your adventures."

"I will, Wilma. That's a promise," he said. "The admiral has already told me some of the assignments that he has been given." Excitement animated his voice and his features.

There was no way she could ever refuse his request.

"Have you ever heard of the Lost Tribes of Earth?" he asked, excited.

"Yes. Is that one of the assignment?"

"Yeah. I had no idea, Wilma. Imagine finding some of these people! I can't believe that a group of people could have such resourcefulness as to build a spaceship after something as devastating as the Holocaust. It's incredible!" He continued to talk, and she listened, falling under the spell of his eager anticipation. When he left a short time later, she remembered the warmth of his embrace and the animation in his voice and wondered how she could live without that until the _Searcher_ made a return trip to Earth.

The week after the _Searcher's_ official commissioning ceremony, Dr. Huer held a farewell party for those in the Defense Directorate who had transferred their service to the new ship. Buck pulled at his collar and hoped that this would be the last time he would have to wear this blasted monkey suit.

Wilma smiled at him across the table and winked. She knew how much he disliked having to wear the dress blue uniform. But she knew how nice he looked in it, too. Glancing at Dr. Huer, sitting halfway down the table from them, she noticed that he was doing a very good job of hiding his true emotions. Some of these transfers had hit him hard, being people he was so very close to. She sighed, feeling deeply sorry for him. Of course, as Buck had told her, the _Searcher_ would come back to Earth periodically.

"My friends," Huer said as he stood up. "I wanted to have this dinner to let you know just how much I care about all of you and how much I, and indeed, the rest of the Directorate will miss you." He paused and cleared his throat. "But what you are doing is going to be even better than what you were doing here on Earth with the Defense Forces. I can only say that those of you who are heading out with the _Searcher_ will be leaving a huge hole in the ranks of the Directorate, but you will be advancing peace and cooperation among all galactic entities." Dr. Huer paused again as those in attendance clapped. "If I was a few years younger, I would be going with you," he added. More applause. He opened his mouth to say something else and then stopped, as though changing his mind. Instead he picked up a glass of vinol and raised it high. "To you who are going on this glorious adventure. I salute you." The sound of a hundred glasses clinking together were the only sounds for a moment and then the room burst into applause again.

Buck glanced at Wilma, who gazed at him from over the rim of her glass. While he was feeling the excitement of his imminent departure, he was also feeling a great deal of sadness. Dr. Huer's bravado only served to heighten his feeling. The separation from his dear friends was now a reality; he would be gone in a few days. Buck was not regretting his decision, but getting used to life without those who had befriended him from the very outset was going to be harder than he ever imagined. At times he felt like a betrayer, even though neither Wilma nor Dr. Huer had said anything that was remotely close to sounding accusatory. Perhaps that made it even harder. He looked up as Dr. Huer began speaking again.

"It is with great pleasure, that I present to you Major Brandon Orlov, second in command of Earth's Defense Directorate, as the temporary head of Earth's Defense Forces for the duration of Colonel Deering's absence," Huer announced loudly. There was even louder clapping and cheering as the older man stood up.

Buck could only gape at Wilma, who smiled a Cheshire Cat smile at him. "What the hell is going on?" he mouthed to her.

She smiled all the more and raised her glass. Absently, he did the same. When Dr. Huer sat down, Buck leaned across the table and said in a low voice, "What is that all about?"

Leaning over, still smiling. "You painted an exciting picture, Buck. Your enthusiasm was contagious, so I decided to see the galaxy, too." She sat back, obviously enjoying his shocked expression.

"You mean, uh, you're . . . you joined the _Searcher_?" he asked, shocked. She had not even hinted.

"Yes, I did."

"When did you decide that? And why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't until just last week, Buck, that I made my decision. I have pondered and argued with myself and finally decided that I needed to go onward, too," she explained.

"I'm glad you left yourself open to return to your old job," Buck said. "You're a top notch commander."

She blushed and smiled. "Thanks, Buck. I appreciate that. Sometimes I wonder."

"Take my word for it, you are."

Wilma suddenly felt overwhelmed by everything; her decision, the change that her life was taking, leaving Earth. Leaning over, she touched Buck's cheek and then kissed him soundly. When she pulled back, he had the bemused look of someone who was in shock.

"It will be a grand voyage, Buck Rogers."

"Indeed it will." And suddenly he felt an overwhelming euphoria. Wilma was coming on this voyage, too. Now it really would be a glorious adventure….


End file.
